Lambeth Asylum
by Reaper-Maniac
Summary: "I am sorry to see you back with us, Lawrence. You disapoint me." Lambeth Asylum, the place that haunted Lawrence's dreams. He was returning to his personal hell. Keeping to the film with elaborated parts
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I guess you could say I'm new on the block, but I'm going to write an account of Lawrence for the month when he is in Lambeth Asylum. I'm keeping it as true to the film as possible and may add some bits in but I don't intend on missing anything out! **

**On saying that, there may be distressing scenes and also graphic violence. It is rated T, if you think it is unsuitable, drop me a line **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Wolfman or any Wolfman characters! Trust me, would I lie to you?**

Lawrence blinked. Light was streaming in from the bars, blinding him. Blinking back the rays he tried to look around.

He couldn't.

He tried to move his head to the left.

He couldn't.

To the right.

Nothing.

He suddenly became horribly aware that he could not move his shoulders, arms or legs. He had a throbbing bruise on his forehead and felt a trickle of blood run from his eyebrow to his mouth.

Something was wrong

He could hear the quiet talk of men, muffled into melody, indistinct above the clopping of horse hooves.

Where was he? What was he doing here? He casted his mind back to what had happened...

_Blood. He was covered in it. He could smell its putrid vapour, taste its metallic savour. His clothes were ripped and torn. _

_Panic set in, what had he done?_

_Leaving the unmerciful look of his father's face, he started towards the Talbot Mannor. It was very painful. Every muscle within him ached and gashes in his legs did nothing to improve this._

_Horses where coming towards his faster and faster; too fast for him._

_He blinked blood out of his eyes and before he knew it, he was surrounded by men on horseback. _

_Feeling hazy he spun around, desperate for an escape route, to his dismay there was none._

"_On your knees!" A man yelled._

_Lawrence fell to the floor on his bruised knees, silently praying for help that he knew would never come. _

_A man got off his horse in front of him holding his shotgun directly in front of his heart. _

_Lawrence remembered thinking please, shoot me. It's not what it looks like. But he seemed to have lost the will to speak._

_The man before him seemed to stare into his soul. The look of utter loathing on his face was unbearable._

_He raised the shotgun high and brought in down on Lawrence's jaw._

_Everything went black._

He gasped.

All the terrible things he must have done. How many families had he torn apart. How many people had he killed to create that much blood?

"Hello?" He called out.

The murmur of voices ceased at once, listening.

"Hello?" he asked again. "Can you hear me?"

He tried move and realised again that he was completely tied down in a straight jacket in the back of a carriage. Where was the carriage going? He had a suspicion but all it did was fill him with utter dread.

"Let me out!" he cried "Please, let me out! PLEASE!"

He tried to move his head to look around the carriage but the strains meant he couldn't move at all. All he could do was to look up at the ceiling of the carriage and the small window fitted with bars, where sunlight drifted through.

A door creaked open and footsteps approached his head. A figure loomed over him.

The man had a receding hair line and cold fishy eyes. He smiled, a toothless sadistically grin as he gazed into Lawrence's scared eyes.

"Sleep tight little Lawrence, we'll be in London soon"

"No..." Lawrence said weakly "NO! NO! NO! N-"

Too late, the man had pulled out a syringe and with a quick flick injected it into his neck.

"No..." said Lawrence weakly as he felt frail and limp.

He willed his eyes to remain open but try as he might they were closing, darkness descended and Lawrence fell into an unwanted sleep; plagued with nightmarish screaming and a howl at the full moon...

**What do you think? Short, but it is just an intro after all. Probably not as good as the film but I try my best. Any spelling mistakes I will correct. Reviews most welcome! **

**Until next chapter...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, I'm back again aren't I? It's strange but the words just pour onto the key board. This is the next instalment of my story. Hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks to my reviews so far **_**MoonliteShadow24**_** and **_**werewolves are very real, **_**they inspired me to post this chapter and keep writing this story, thank you, very much!**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own any right to the film or any characters which I use in the story. **

_Terrible things, Lawrence. You've done terrible things._

_He could see the cunning smile on his father's face and saw it turn into a hairy wolf, which howled and lunged..._

Lawrence found himself barely awake on a wet uncomfortable chair. Again, he couldn't move, powerful restraints held him in place, tight across his legs, arms, stomach and head. From his throbbing head down to his trapped feet, he felt horribly hopeless.

"Where is my father?" He croaked to the silence of the room.

He knew where he was but refused to open his eyes. The room he knew he was in he had uncounted too many times in the past. The place which haunted his nightmares and the place he was still too uncomfortable to talk about.

"Where is my father?" He said again. Silence was the only answer.

A door opened in the room, yet Lawrence still did not open his eyes; one was too swollen and bruised to move.

"I am sorry to see you back here again with us, Lawrence."

Lawrence knew who was speaking. The man who struck fear into his childhood was speaking again, in the same condescending, calm voice he had heard so often.

"You disappoint me. But we have made enormous strides in the treatment of delusions such as yours."

"Where is my father?" He asked weakly, willing a reply.

There suddenly came the tell tale clank of the gears and the sudden movement of his chair. It was tipping backwards, churning his stomach.

Abruptly, ice cold water touched his skin, pouring at him from all sides, rapidly creeping up his body at an alarming rate.

Unintentionally he opened his mouth to scream from the pain and cold, when water gushed into his mouth, filling his lungs with the icy substance.

He was completely under now. The pain was unbearable. It felt like knifes were stabbing at his body, yet being chained down meant he could do nothing to stop them. He couldn't breath surely he would die here in this icy grave.

He couldn't see, he was blind. Fear was flooding him and the pain was intolerable. _This is hell...this is hell..._

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK

Came the gears. The movement of the chair pulled him from his doom into the air, which felt almost as cold as the water he had just left.

He screamed to relieve himself of the pain. Ice blocks still on him, he tried to move them off him but he could hardly move an inch. His clothes were drenched and sopping; retaining much of the freezing water he had just left.

The chair clunked into the upright position again. His eyes wide, fighting through the bruise on his once handsome face.

"Bracing, is it guv'nar?" Said the guard nastily, next the gears.

A man with another syringe walked up to Lawrence. He wanted to push him away or recoil but his restraints would not let him.

The pain of the injection seared his body. Coursing through his veins into his very soul. Lawrence was too weak to cry out or complain. He just exhaled and spat out some more water, still breathing deeply trying to regain much of the lost air from his lungs.

He stared at the doctor, for his smiling face didn't fool him. He could see the malice behind the man's eyes and knew if anyone was the monster here, it would be him.

All he wanted was for his father there. He was to blame for everything. Everything.

"Where is my father?"

"Where's my father?" he said again more insistent.

"Where is my father!" He cried out loud, feeling more panicky.

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK

The gears cranked back into action again and the chair moved back to the water. Lawrence felt the pulling in his gut and spat out some more water from his lungs. He felt the Ice water again, surely even colder than before. He opened his mouth and screamed a dreadful screech, as the water evaded his mouth once more.

It was torture. Each plunge lasted longer than the next and each were frequently punctuated with painful injections.

Lawrence became unaware of how much time had passed. It seemed to drag on, endlessly, infinite. This day would surely never come to an end, he thought miserably.

Lawrence tried to explain to them, tried to make them see reason. It wasn't him; he wasn't the one that killed all those people. Unfortunately deep down, Lawrence knew the truth. What had he become? A beastly creature. One from the depths of hell. A monster with no mercy or regret. His father?

"Where is my father!"

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK

Lawrence screamed as the air hit his face and the chair up righted itself. He spat out the water still in his mouth and shivered terribly.

Doctor Hoenneger walked slowly up to him considering him with behind his round glasses.

"There is no such thing as werewolves. You know this Mr Talbot. You do not become a monster at the full moon, you already are a monster."

"Where is my father" He persisted "Tell me where he is!" He cried, still gasping for breath, his teeth chattering.

Doctor Hoenneger sighed, as if he was surprised that the treatment was not working.

"One more time" He said to the guard next to the gears, who chucked throatily.

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK

"NO!" he yelled "NO!"

Icy water once more. He was fighting now to stay alive. The constant dipping was sapping all his strength, it was taking all his will power to stay awake and not succumb to the waters depths.

CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK

Rising up to gasp the air, to cling onto to it with all his might. Night had almost fallen; light was fading fast from the room, leaving darkness in its wake.

The doctor faced him, smiling.

"You not a werewolf are you, Mr Talbot? There are no such things, are there?"

"Where...is my...father" He breathed.

Lawrence felt whatever strength and fight he had left in him leave him as he slumped in his seated prison, unconscious.

He was dimly aware of them loosening his chains, yet he was too weak to move. He felt someone's hands grasp his shoulders and pull him onto a cart to carry him away from the water room.

He was pushed on the cart, through many doors. He could hear more screaming now, the shrieks of the asylums "patients".

Still barely conscious he was pushed into a dark room. Someone shoved him gruffly onto a hard bed and heard heavy breathing then someone fumbling with his wrists, shackling something onto it, then to his neck.

The door slammed and Lawrence was left alone with his thoughts. His body numb from the cold he tried to move himself more comfortable, but found it impossible with the chains that bore him to his room.

It was dark now, as he lay there breathing deeply, willing sleep to roll over him, but dreading its consequences.

He could hear distant screaming and yelling. He could hear an eerie song, like a children's rhyme he had heard long ago. Long ago, when the only thing that mattered was for his return for supper in the evening.

He began to hum the solemn tune rocking himself backwards and forwards, feeling less human then he had ever felt in his life, shivering incessantly.

Maybe it all was in his head. Maybe he was the raving lunatic everyone told him. Lawrence Talbot, the murderer. This savage human that will kill at will...

No. It was real. He could see his fingers twist, feel his neck snap and joints crack. Feel his shoes rip as feet, that didn't belong to him, bulge and grow. How blood, would pour from his lips as sharp fangs pierced his mouth, robbing him of his human teeth and filling it with the monsters snapping jaws.

He could feel how the beast would rear us inside him, howling to the moon begging for blood...

He shuddered and lay on his back, uncomfortably aware of his tight chain.

A long time later, Lawrence fell asleep, ignoring the cries of the prisoners, wondering if he would one day become one himself once more.

**What do you think? It still quite short, but it seemed a good place to end. Next chapter is much longer. Please comment if you can. He hasn't gone loco yet, but watch this space!**

**I speed typed this so please, notify me of any spelling error that may have occurred.**

**Thanks **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, this is chapter two on its way for you! Sorry it's been a while, I've just had lots of exams. I'm trying to get across the horrors of the Asylum and the creepiness of the place. In this chapter we start to see Lawrence lose it a bit, not much though. I'm it building up; you'll just have to wait for a few more chapters. **

**I did some research on Asylums in that period and I am keeping to my information as well as the film. Did you know that Lambeth Asylum was a real place? I didn't.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Wolfman, trust me I would be constantly bragging about it if I did!**

Lawrence woke early. It was beginning to get light and he could see his cell properly for the first time.

It was a large room, musty and with a foul smell of mould, blood and dirt. Paint that once plastered the walls had been peeled off, leaving the cold wall exposed. Heavy chains like the one Lawrence was wearing where separated throughout the room at regular intervals. The room looked like something out of a nightmare, thought Lawrence. Crimson blood stains spattered the floor and on the walls were fingers marks, straining to be in the outside world again.

A small window was the only source of light in the room. It was placed to high up for Lawrence to reach had had bars across, severing the light into fragments.

All seemed quiet and still. A faint dripping came from somewhere nearby.

Then, quite suddenly, a dreadful noise pierced Lawrence's ears. It was someone in the room next door, scrapping their nails down the thin wall which divided the rooms. The horrific noise made Lawrence's hair stand on end.

It persisted. The scrapping, clawing sound as the nails dragged across the wall.

Lawrence put his hands over his ears to stop the noise.

"Stop..." he croaked miserably.

The noise continued. It grew, faster and faster and thumping against the wall.

"Stop it!" Lawrence moaned, rocking to and fro.

The noise ceased and Lawrence took his hands from his ears.

He put his head to the door to listen in. Why had it suddenly stopped?

A high pitched giggle came from the room.

Lawrence's stomach turned to ice.

It sounded like a young woman, possibly in her early twenties.

"Hello?" He called uncertainty, through the wall.

The woman laughed again, a long shriek of laughter burst forth, sounding, not happy, but sinister.

"Can you hear me?" Lawrence asked.

Suddenly, a voice came from the other side of the wall, loud and clear as if the person speaking was next to him. Yet it wasn't a speech, it was a song.

"Double, double toil and trouble;  
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.  
Fillet of a fenny snake,  
In the cauldron boil and bake;  
Eye of newt and toe of frog,  
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,  
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,  
Lizard's leg and owlet's wing,  
For a charm of powerful trouble,  
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."

There then came a dreadful cackle, Lawrence sprang away from the wall onto the floor; desperate to get away from the terrifying woman.

The Witches, Macbeth, he noted, Act one, scene four. He knew this as he himself was Macbeth and was in this very scene. He found it strange that the person next door seemed to know all the words like him...

Lawrence remembered that part of Macbeth well, and wished more than ever that he was back in his theatre company now, where he was Hamlet, famously murdering his uncle for his father's revenge. How he hoped he could one day do the same for his father.

The woman continued to chant scratching the walls again. The noise penetrating his very heart, making his skin crawl like chalk down a black bored.

"Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,  
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf  
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,  
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark,"

He tried to ignore the renewed chanting, blocking it with his hands clasped over his ears. The noise, however, was just as clear, filling his head with the monotone song.

Lawrence was never aware that the woman he heard had never spoken, that all she did was tap and scratch. There was never a voice.

There was no Shakespeare being recited, it was all it was all in his head.

"By the pricking of my thumbs"

Lawrence thought he heard, clearly through his hands.

"Something wicked this way comes."

Suddenly, the grinding of the bolt on the door brought him to his senses. He looked up from the floor where he sat, cradling his knees to him. The woman had stopped yet the tapping and scratching continued as it is had never stopped.

The bolt shifted suddenly and the heavy door opened suddenly.

Lawrence scrambled to sit on the bed and watched as the door opened fully.

There stood a man with a large ginger handlebar moustache. He had little or possibly no hair on his head. He stepped into the room, Lawrence watched cautiously. The man looked down at the bed. The way he looked at Lawrence unnerved him, like he was something foul he had found on his shoe. He was carrying a gray bowl in his left hand.

"You." He ordered. Lawrence didn't move.

"I want you to sit and stay where you are." He said slowly. "If you move, then I will bring others to restrain you. Got it?" The man spoke very threateningly and Lawrence didn't move, not wanting to get on this guys wrong side.

The man smiled and placed the bowl on the end of his bed then left, slamming the heavy door behind him. Lawrence heard the grinding of the bolt on the other side of the door, then fading footsteps.

The Lawrence moved forward to pick up the bowl. It was full of a thick, sludgy substance. It smelt quite revolting and almost made him gag. Lawrence moved the bowl left and right, trying to decide what it was. He thought it looked like gruel, but something yellow and large was floating near the top.

Lawrence forgot how hungry he was, not having eaten since he was at Blackmoor. He suddenly realised that he had not been given anything to eat it with. No spoon, no fork, nothing.

He dipped his finger into the cold gruel and stirred it. Pinching his noise with one hand he tipped the contents of the bowl down his throat ignoring the foul taste or the lumpy morsels.

After he finished, he had the dreadful taste in his mouth. Ignoring it he lay back down on his hard bed, imagining what horrors he would have in store for him today.

That was, Lawrence concluded, the worse part of his day. Having to sit on his uncomfortable bed, chained down and restless. He had no idea about what was going to happen to him.

It was lunchtime approximately, judging by the sun in the sky, when there was a knock on the door and the shift of the bolt and it was heaved aside.

Lawrence looked up. He had been gazing gloomily down at his feet waiting for this moment to arrive. He stared avidly at the door as it was pushed open.

A man with a small beard entered, keeping his distance from Lawrence. His dark hair was gelled so thickly it gleamed in the musty light. He knelt down close to the bed, but far away if Lawrence was to lunge at him. He spoke in a calm voice directly to his face.

"Hello. My name is Doctor Pichard. I am here to help the patients find peace, and also decide on the severity of the condition of the patient."

"You're not a Doctor." Lawrence said averting his eyes away from the Doctors face. "None of you are. You're evil. I've heard the screams of your _patients."_

Lawrence spat the words with such conviction and anger, it surprised the doctor.

"No, no. You misunderstand me. I am here to help you, we all are. Consider this Master Talbot. You would not be in here if you didn't need my help."

"No one can help me now" Lawrence said, still not looking at the Doctor. His mind far away, back at Talbot hall.

"Ah yes." The Doctor sighed. "I heard rumours of your condition, I was unaware it troubled you this much."

Lawrence didn't say anything. There was a long pause. The Doctor spoke again, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"I wonder, as you can clearly communicate well, better than many other of the patients, I wonder if you can do me a favour. Will you have a discussion with me, purely for medical research? It would be interesting for me to get a further view on intense human delusions like yours, for example."

Lawrence turned slowly to Doctor Pichard.

"You have no idea about so called delusions." He said quietly. Staring with his sunken eyes into the Doctor's healthy ones.

"Well" Said the Doctor, cheerfully. "Please, let me take this opportunity to help you, to discover where these delusions came from. Talking to me will help you overcome this illness and return to your normal life."

The Doctor moved closer to Lawrence, eager to get what he wanted.

"Between you and me, Lawrence." He said in a lower voice, you are the only one here that I believe can recover properly. Let me talk to you and we can sort this out. You clearly have a troubled mind and I intend to rectify this. Tell me everything, I'll help you."

Whether it was the enthusiastic look in his eyes or whether it was the desperation for someone to understand what he was going through. Lawrence nodded.

A broad grin spread across the Doctors face. He stood up suddenly at turned away from Lawrence as if he was now unimportant.

"I told you he would comply." He called to the door as he marched towards it. "You should be thanking me, George. With this patients help, we may be able to finish your book on hallucinations. Now, we have a great specimen for your experiment."

He knocked twice on the door and the bolt shunted across, he pulled it open and looked back at Lawrence sitting on his bed, having not moved at all.

"I'll see you later today for our interview, Talbot" He nodded curtly then left the room muttering to himself as he departed.

"Demented freak." He said, as he departed. The door slammed and Lawrence was once again alone.

Lawrence sighed deeply. Anxiety clouded his mind. What had he just done in saying he would talk. They will surly they will think him crazy.

Lawrence lay back, pulling his shackled hands to his head and running his fingers through his once kept hair. He was already in the dog house, he thought, and it couldn't hurt to talk about it. Maybe they would understand.

Time moved much faster as the afternoon approached. Lawrence, found himself sitting on his bed, listening to the other prisoners moan again.

Finally, there came the grinding of the bolt and two burly men entered. Lawrence didn't move, there was something threatening about the way the two stood which made him cautious.

"Is this the one?" The larger of the two asked the other, speaking in a thick cockney accent.

"Yes." Grunted the second.

The first one peered at Lawrence, like he was an animal at the zoo then blinked stupidly at the other.

"But he looks so small?"

The smaller one sighed exasperatedly.

"Don't under estimate them, remember what happened to Henry, nearly bit his ear off!"

The other grunted in reply.

The two converged on Lawrence, one holding his hands down by his side, clamping them tightly down. The other undid the neck brace and fixed another one.

"Stand." Commanded the one by his neck. Lawrence obliged.

"Walk." One said, and so he did. One in front, then Lawrence and the other holding up the rear holding the chain which was fixed around Lawrence's neck. He didn't struggle.

They walked him along corridors until they found a spare room. On entering they found two chairs facing each other over a plain wooden table. There were straps fixed to one of the chairs.

One of the men shoved him roughly in the back and Lawrence took a hesitant step towards the chair. He sat on it and watched the two men bind his wrists to the chair. Laughing, they departed, leaving him alone in his chair.

The door opened and Doctor Pichard stepped inside, nodded to Lawrence and sat across from him with a pen, ink and parchment.

"Thank you for agreeing to this Lawrence, most of the other patients here are unresponsive and would never agree to talk."

Lawrence nodded politely then looked down at his wrists.

"Are these really necessary?" He asked, gesturing to the straps.

Doctor Pichard's smile faltered.

"You never know Master Talbot. We are in a mental asylum and you, yourself are a patient. Understand that certain precautions must be taken."

"Now." The Doctor said picking up his pen and dipping in into the ink pot next to him. "Please tell me everything."

Lawrence paused, not knowing where to begin. _At the beginning_, he thought.

He started to talk. He told the doctor about what Lycanthropy is, how when he was bitten, he turned into the beast and mutilated many villagers. He explained how he couldn't control the fact he transformed and what he did when he was under the power of the moon.

Doctor Pichard did not interrupt him but wrote continually while he spoke.

"However, you have to understand." Lawrence continued, leaning forward. "Is that my father is the same, he also has the curse, I think. Well, I don't know for sure, but see, he has this room..."

"Mr Talbot" Doctor Pichard held his hand up to silence him.

Lawrence stopped his flow.

There was a pause then Doctor Pichard laughed. A long cold laugh that cut though Lawrence's soul, piercing his insides.

"Werewolves!" He sniggered, trying to regain control. "That's a good one. I have heard many interesting ones in my time Mr Talbot but this is quite out of this world."

He continued to laugh. He got up and advanced to the door, knocking twice on its surface.

"Arthur," he called. "Come and read this."

The door opened and a tall man with a top hat entered with a monocle. He sat down in the seat the doctor had just vacated. He pushed his monocle further in and began to read what the doctor had just written.

A broad grin spread across his face.

"This is perfect. A delusion of this nature is fascinating. How did you find him?" He enquired to the Doctor, who shrugged.

"With this intriguing mental delusion we can try to break it down, finding the best method. I wonder how long it would take?" said the man with the monocle watched Lawrence glare sinisterly at him.

Lawrence felt hollow. He was so sure, they would believe him. _They will_, he thought defiantly. _They will_.

"I'm not having a delusion. You have no idea of what I have gone through. I'm not mad either!" He said, ending his sentence on a shout.

"Lawrence," sighed the Doctor. "We know what you have gone through." He glanced down at the paper "Your mother's horrific mutilation, your fathers neglect and your brother's recent death."

"It's not that." Lawrence whispered.

The tall man with the top hat, Arthur, turned to Doctor Pichard.

"Well, thank you for this. Now with your help, I think we can really test the extent of delusions. What treatment do you suggest first?"

"I'M NOT MAD!" Lawrence yelled.

Underneath the anger, something began to bubble; something not human which growled and howled. Lawrence couldn't control what happened next even if he tried.

Without warning, without meaning to, the straps that held him down, broke suddenly. Lawrence lunged forward.

He didn't know what he was doing, didn't think about what he must look like and how this didn't help his chances of escaping this place. All he wanted was to hurt the Doctor and Arthur as much as possible.

He dived over the table towards the men, who yelled in surprise and jumped aside.

"HELP!" The Doctor screeched as he tried to get to his feet. "Assistance in room eleven!"

Lawrence pounced on top of the doctor, using his still handcuffed hand to punch every inch of him he could.

The Doctor yelled but he couldn't move, he was pinned down by Lawrence, who was on top of him.

Lawrence's chained hands found the Doctor's throat...

A door banged open and Lawrence felt two strong people grab his shoulders and pull him off the Doctor on to his back. He thrashed about wildly but was held down tightly by the men to the floor.

Without warning, a searing pain in his neck made him scream. The injection was so painful, it made a tear of anguish escape, trickling from the corner of his eye.

Light seemed to be fading from his vision, everything was fuzzy and fading darkness was ascending.

_No_, he would fight; he wouldn't be overcome by the sedative.

He was losing the battle to stay conscious and he knew it.

"Keep him under control; he is more violent than I thought." Lawrence hears someone above him say.

Lawrence exhaled deeply then remembered nothing more as the blackness swallowed him, drowning him in its dark abyss.

**Don't you hate that Doctor! I really hate him! I hope you enjoyed it. Any mistakes please drop me a note. Next chapter will be much shorter but that's because I'm thinking about putting it in someone else's point of view. **

**Thanks to all my comments so far, you make my writing worth it! Please be one of them and review my chapter, much appreciated. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry, I haven't updated in a bit I had some stuff to take care of, so here's the next chapter as a present. I hope you like it and I apologise for how this chapter will be much shorter than the others. Thanks to Werewolves Are Real, my most frequent reviewer.**

**It is in the view point of Thomas Harding, a man who works in Lambeth Asylum as a doctor.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Wolfman or any characters, except maybe Thomas Harding. **

It was another bleak, overcast day in London and Thomas was running unusually late.

He had over slept and had missed seeing his children off to school. He got changed into his black jacket and tie and preceded downstairs in a hurry. A bowl of porridge was waiting ready for him on the table.

He gulped down his luke-warm porridge with great haste while reading the morning herald.

Amelia, his wife, entered the kitchen, pecked him on one cheek and took his finished bowl away from him, bringing it to the sink to be washed.

"Sleep well, dear?" She asked, turning on the tap to wash up.

"Like a log" Thomas admitted, folding up the paper "I've been sleeping rough for the past week. It has been good to finally get a good night sleep."

"I didn't" Said Amelia scrubbing the bowl "You keep talking in your sleep."

"Sorry darling" Thomas said as he got up from the table, folding up the paper with a sigh.

He glanced casually at his gold pocket watch in his top pocket. _No way_! He thought, _could that really be the time!_

"I've got to go." He said hurriedly, kissing the top of Amelia's head.

He rushed to the hall and pulled on his coat, which was waiting for him on its hook. He unhooked the latch, turned the key and opened the door into the cool morning light.

Wind whipped his coat around him as he walked briskly to his destination.

Ten minutes later, he stepped inside the hard iron gates the proclaimed _"Lambeth Asylum_" on the outside.

It was a place, thought Thomas, where everyone avoided. Even the walkers on the pavement would cross the road to keep their distance from the place. It was a dull, dark brick building, like many others in London. However, there was something deeply disturbing about the place. Maybe it was the little light that penetrated its core through the barred windows. Perhaps it was the screams that could be heard on a calm morning. More likely, it was the ominous feel about the place, as if terrible things had occurred within its walls that no one wanted to discuss.

That was a strange feature about the employees of Lambeth Asylum. They knew that the patients were treated unfairly, that they were verging on being cruel not kind. Many terrible experiments had been done on the inmates, dangerous, illegal things that were done "_For the good of the future of science."_

Thomas shivered, he tried to push the thought aside. He stepped closer to the main entrance and took out his large brass key and inserted it.

Pushing the door open, he stepped into the dimly lit room. He signed the piece of paper on the side saying he was on duty and walked to the changing rooms to change into his medical clothes.

"Late are we?" Said a calm, quiet voice.

Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, a little frightened.

A figured loomed form the shadows. A man wearing round glasses and a blood stained apron was smiling sinisterly at him. If he hadn't been his boss, he would have avoided this man at all costs. He always wore the same smirk, to his colleges and to the patients, like a tiger smiling at his prey.

Thomas went into the medical career to help people overcome their problems. Dr Hoenneger went into the medical career for very different reasons. He liked to experiment with the usual treatment, thought Thomas, bitterly.

"Hello, Sir." He said, coldly.

"I hope you are not going to make a habit of being late, Mr Harding?"

"No, Sir." Said Thomas, flatly.

The Doctor's smile widened.

"Good. Now, get changed quickly, I want to show you something exciting that has recently come up."

Thomas nodded and proceeded to the changing rooms.

He knew that whatever had "_Just come up_" probably wasn't anything good. He opened his locker and pulled out his clothes. He got changed faster than usual and went back to meet up with Dr Hoenneger.

The Doctor was waiting for him in the Staff Room reading a file and smiling. Thomas sat across from him, in the chair opposite.

The Doctor put the file down on the table and pushed it towards him.

"A new patient, only just arrived this weekend."

"What's the condition?" Asked Thomas, picking up the file.

"You know, Charles in room eleven?" The Doctor asked smiling.

"Yes. Is that the one that thinks he is a bat and bit Henry's ear of a few weeks back?"

"That's the one"

"Please tell me this isn't another bitter!" Said Thomas glumly.

"No, this one is the most interesting case we have had so far. He has these crazy delusions, even worse than room eleven. You know, yesterday, he attacked Dr Pichard, normally patients respond so well to him."

"May I?" Asked Thomas, tapping the file on the desk.

Doctor Hoenneger nodded and Thomas picked up the file and began to read.

Lambeth Asylum Patient file.

**Name**: _Lawrence Talbot_

**Sex**: _Male_

**Age**: _Early 30's_

**Date of Birth**: _7__th__ November_

**Condition**_: Severe mental delusions of Lycanthropy, becoming a werewolf at the full moon_

**Violence level**: _Extremely High, attacked doctors spontaneously. Will attack again, highly dangerous, has killed before (see history) Keep medicated or restrained AT ALL TIMES._

**History: **_Possibly ill at birth, watched his mother's suicide, mentally ill mind thought it was his father that killed her. Left home to America at a young age after having spent one year in Lambeth Asylum. His brothers' brutal murder, probably by him we can conclude. Has killed freely at Blackmoor, Yorkshire, at every full moon; believing he is under "a curse" _

"Is this...for real?" Asked Thomas, putting down the file.

"Yes" Replied the Doctor, "I knew him when he was in here the first time. You were not working here at that time."

"Interesting..." Thomas mused, flicking back through the file which described in detail all the medication he is taking and previously took.

"Is it possible?" Thomas asked looking up. "For me to see him? I didn't think it would be possible for people to have delusions of this savage nature."

"He is in room nine. Unfortunately, some guards will have accompany you, just for security reasons. We don't want to lose one of our best doctors to a mad man, do we" He said, smiling as if he could wish for nothing better to happen.

"Of course."

He got up, picking up the file and leaving the room, glad to be rid of the Doctor at last.

He was met by Robert and Frank, two guards at the Asylum at the door.

"Wanting to see room nine?" Frank asked in this thick cockney accent

"Yes please." Said Thomas

"You sure?" Robert said, raising one thick black eyebrow.

"Yes, I want to talk to him. Is that such a problem?"

"Lawrence, in room nine, hasn't spoken at all to anyone since he attacked Dr Pichard, he has just mumbling to himself, not keeping any eye contact. Completely crazy."

"I see. Can you take me there please?"

The two nodded simultaneously and walked towards the corridor where the patients room where.

They passed the same solid doors until they reached door number nine.

Frank pulled a heavy ring of large metal keys from his belt and inserted one into the door. He then pushed open the bolt which made a horrible grinding noise.

The door opened and a horrible smell filled their noses.

Thomas stepped forward.

The room was poorly lit, the only source of light was a tiny window on the corner of the room. At first glance the room appeared to be empty. Thomas took another step into the room and saw a small figure huddled on the bed; staring with wide eyes at the wall. The figure on the bed was lightly scratching the wall with his nails, muttering softly.

Thomas glanced at Frank and Robert, both where standing in the door, unwilling to go closer because of the smell.

Thomas moved closer to the bed, Lawrence didn't move but continued to stare at the old, stone wall. Thomas noticed he was muttering to himself, words he couldn't hear or understand.

_It was a shame_, thought Thomas. The man on the bed was probably handsome once. His eyes now, had dark circles beneath them and he had a purple bruise swelling on his left cheek.

Thomas moved a hand infront of Lawrence's face. He didn't blink but continued to stare entranced at the wall, muttering something that rhymed.

Thomas looked more closely at Lawrence and saw he was in soiled clothes, which explained where the putrid smell was coming from.

Looking under the hard, steel bed, Thomas saw there was no chamber pot.

Fuming, he stood up and faced the door, where the two men still stood holding their noses.

"What is going on here?" He asked his voice full of cold fury.

"What are you talking about?" Answered Frank.

"I'll tell you what I'm talking about. This man is in soiled clothes, he does not have a chamber pot to relieve himself in, he hasn't washed in a long time, he clearly hasn't eaten he is so malnourished and what in God's name have you given him to act like this!" He said, gesturing to the bed where the destroyed man lay.

Frank's jaw clenched in rage.

"I'll have you know, he is in soiled clothes as no one dared touch him or wash him, we gave him food which he hasn't eaten and we gave him medication that would control him."

"Get him out of his clothes and change them, wash him and make him eat."

"But..." Robert began.

"Are you questioning me? You will do as I say." He commanded.

Thomas looked pitifully down at Lawrence and moved to leave the room.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his wrist from behind.

Lawrence was staring at him, with wide, unseeing eyes. He looked even worse up close, dirty with a horrid sallow complexion.

His long, spindly fingers groped Thomas' wrists. Lawrence could not move much further form the bed because of his chains, but he was holding on as if his life depended on it.

"Please..." Croaked Lawrence, his voice dry and cracked. His eyes staring unblinkingly at Thomas.

"Please...I need to get...need to get...back to...Talbot Hall. I...my father...you..." Lawrence trailed off slowly and let go of Thomas's wrist who stared at him in surprise.

Lawrence stared into the empty space of the room.

"Gwen..." He said. He was staring straight ahead as if seeing something they could not.

He suddenly got to his feet making them all start. He moved, unsteadily forward as far as he could go without his chain being uncomfortable around his neck. He reached forwards with his chained wrists, groping towards someone they could not see.

"It's so good to see you again." Spoke Lawrence, his eyes full of emotion. Lawrence was speaking clearly and loudly. "Gwen, you believe me don't you, I know you do, don't you, you must...Gwen..."

Thomas stepped infront of Lawrence, who was still staring longingly ahead, muttering the same word under his breath.

He gently pushed Lawrence back onto his bed and lay him down.

"Gwen, Gwen, Gwen..." Whispered Lawrence.

Thomas stepped away.

"I see why you keep him on medication now." He said slowly. "Keep an eye on him. It is strange, he acts in ways I haven't seen before."

Thomas backed out of the room.

"Continue the treatment" Said Dr Hoenneger appearing from the shadows.

"Dr Hoenneger, are you sure? Lawrence seems really ill, he may need more emotional care then physical."

"The patient in room nine is responding well to the treatment."

"No, Sir, he is talking to himself and having..."

"Thomas," said Dr Hoenneger, in the same patronising voice. "You work in an Asylum, people here are crazy and do talk to themselves, if you haven't been aware of that fact, then maybe this place is not for you."

"I know where I work, Sir." Said Thomas, saying _sir_ with as much comtempt as possible. "I don't think you do. They need our help and mistreating them..."

"Excuse me," Dr Hoenneger interrupted. "You forget your place Doctor. I help my patients, I do what is necessary for them to recover."

"Torture is not necessary!"

"Get out of my sight." Spat Doctor Hoenneger. "I don't want to see you anywhere near here ever again, do I make my help clear?"

Thomas pulled off his gloves and threw them at the guards.

He turned and walked to the exit of the Asylum and never looked back, leaving Lawrence with no hope, leaving him alone without compassionate care, leaving him in the hands of the unmerciful _Doctor_...

**That's it for chapter four, I hope you liked it. I enjoyed writing as Thomas Harding, it was really fun and easy! If you have spotted any mistakes let me know.**

**Please review and let me know what you are thinking of the story so far**

**Until my next chapter then...**


	5. Chapter 5

**This is chapter five, coming your way. I'm surprised I'm keeping with this story, normally I give up at chapter one! Back to Lawrence's point of view, we see clips of his madness joined together to make more sense in the long run. Thanks to my reviews, they mean a lot to me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Wolfman or any characters from the film.**

Blackness, Lawrence's eyes were tight shut. He wasn't going to open his eyes for anything. He was dreading where he was and part of him didn't want to know.

Earlier, he felt someone drag him from his bed and march him to this room where he was currently strapped down to a tilted table.

He was lying there for a few minutes when he thought he felt something on his legs. Lawrence stiffened worried about what it was. Whatever the "Thing" was it was moving steadily up his legs to his waist. Lawrence felt that the creature was small, bony and had long, strong fingers.

It was past his waist now, moving closer to his face. Lawrence heard it was growl and Lawrence's eyes snapped open.

The creature had very little hair with evil sunken eyes. He was small boy who had large, sharp, pointed teeth, behind which he growled like an animal.

He considered Lawrence for a fraction of a second then lunged forward to his neck.

Pain seared Lawrence's body as the syringe full of medication pierced his neck. The small boy vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

A Doctor loomed into view above him, a clip board in his hands.

"Kill..." Lawrence breathed.

The doctor paused in his writing and looked intently at Lawrence. Lawrence recognised him as Doctor Pichard.

"Kill who? You?"

"Yes...and no..." Lawrence said, struggling to talk, still trying to control the pain of the medication, pulsing through his veins.

"You will kill me, but you should kill my father. If you don't kill my father he will kill again and again."

The Doctor moved away, looking disappointed. He pushed what felt like a cork block in his mouth, forcing Lawrence to stop speaking. Lawrence kept saying it through the gag.

The Doctor moved to the side, out of Lawrence's vision.

Suddenly, the snap of a lever was heard as someone yanked it down.

Blinding, sickening pain shook his body. It wasn't just an electric current; it was the horror it brought.

Every muscle in his body was screaming, his very bone yelling in torment. He couldn't control his body as it shook violently beneath him. His teeth bit down on the cork block automatically, as if it was a way to relieve the pain.

Pictures flashed behind his eye lids.

_He was seven, playing in the beautiful gardens of Talbot Hall with his brother. They were playing a game, chasing each other, not a care in the world..._

_He was with his aunt in America, being laughed at by the teenagers there because of his English accent..._

_He was auditioning to be in a theatre group. He was so nervous the paper shook as he clung onto it, reading his lines..._

_He was performing on a stage as Hamlet, holding the skull before him. "Please Horatio, tell me one thing. Do you think Alexander looked this way to the earth? And smelt so...and smelt so..."_

It was a while before Lawrence came round. He was back in his cell; the electric shock therapy must have ended hours ago.

It seemed so real, he thought as he lay back onto his bed, almost glad to be resting on the uncomfortable steel.

He could see the theatre as clearly as though he was standing right there on the stage.

He was holding the skull before him again, the audience watching his every move.

"Alas, poor Yorick"

He looked down at the skull. But it wasn't a skull anymore, it was a villagers head, ripped completely off the neck. Cherry blood was still dripping from where the neck was no longer attached. His hair was dirt and blood spattered, his skin pale as smoke his eyes unseeing.

He opened his blue lips and his brother's voice came out of the grown man's mouth.

"Lawrence." He whispered urgently. "Wake up, I think I heard something."

He was back in his childhood bedroom, the two beds apart from each other with a large window separating them, revealing the dark sky outside. His brother had woken and was speaking to him, his voice scared and insistent.

He looked over to Lawrence's bed on the right, but it wasn't Lawrence that slept there.

A hideous creature, resembling a child but no child could ever look like that. With little hair and extremely strong, the creature leered forward, baring its horrible pointed fangs, growling like a beast.

Time began to pass, so slowly it a peered not to move and the drugs seemed to slow everything down to a grindind halt. Each torture seemed longer then the last and each night dragged on for days.

The only thing that still seemed to move forwards was the moon. Every night, Lawrence would look out of the window and see the shinning orb pass lazily across the midnight sky, awaiting its chance to be full once more.

It was taunting him. Just like the many things in his life.

Francis Aberline appeared before him, swimming into focus in his mind's eye. His superior smirk was back in place.

He looked over at Lawrence, judging him as unworthy.

"I hope this doesn't impede your return to the stage."

Lawrence knew, in a sad way, that he could never go back to place he loved, acting. Being someone else and completely forgetting your own problems but getting lost in the characters. It was an easy, ideal solution to his problems. Now, he had lost all that mattered to him. America, his acting group and now Gwen.

_He pushed open a door in his house. Gwen was sitting on the bed, her naked back to him. She turned slowly around to see him. Her hair falling elegantly across her face._

Inside he longed for her, to have her as his own, to steal her away and keep her for eternity. The other half of him was disgusted in himself. This was the girl who his brother was engaged too, he was ruining Ben's memory by being so selfish.

"Terrible things, Lawrence" He heard his father say. "You've done terrible things."

His heart ached every time he thought about her. He could see her sometimes; she would stand in front of him, smiling. Yet she was always out of reach, always just beyond his grasp.

Clank-Clank-Clank.

The droning of the gears as it plunged him into the water seemed to be embedded in his nightmares.

One time, he could have sworn he was young again. He felt the water rush as he was plunged into the icy deep.

Surely he would drown, he thought, his small lungs could not possibly take any more of this agony.

The grinding began again and the chair lifted out of the freezing water. He coughed and spluttered.

"Father!" He screamed. "Father!"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father at the cogs. He was the one who was dunking him in the water, slowly driving him crazy.

How did he end up here again? After standing a whole year of it in his youth, it was only in his nightmares were he returned.

Nightmares were a regular occurrence at the Asylum. Often the silence of the night would be broken by a horrific, piercing shriek and more than once the scream belonged to Lawrence.

Lawrence had a strange dream one night, more real and frightening than ever.

He had woken in his cell. Morning had broken, bright and clear. Yet the sun seemed miles away from where he was.

To his surprise there was no chain around his neck or on his wrists. For the first time he felt free.

"Lawrence."Said a soft voice. Gwen lit up the gloomy room with her mere presence. Her beauty giving out more light then the sun could ever.

She took her soft hands in his dirty and lifted him on his feet.

He didn't feel tired or drained as he had always felt while he was in the Asylum. He stood on his feet, feeling strong once more.

Gwen took hold of his shoulders, staring deep into his eyes.

"It's ok; I've come to take you home." A part of him truly believed her. "It's ok." She reassured him again.

"Hold me...Just hold me." She whispered. Her rosy lips where enchanting and her pale face shone like the light of the moon.

Lawrence felt the weight in his stomach being relived as he looked into her beautiful eyes. Every feature of her seemed to be more radiant them ever.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lawrence noticed a dirt spotted mirror at the edge of the room. Curiously, he peered around Gwen to see his reflection, imagining how badly he must compare to the stunning Gwen.

A monster stared back at him, covered in thick black fur all over him. His clothes where ripped in places and black hair could be seen beneath, like a second skin. His face was disfigured, more animal then human. His nose was dog like and his mouth was dribbling crimson blood onto her back through his dagger like jaws.

Lawrence jumped in horror. Gwen took his frightened face in her velvety hands.

"It's not real" She whispered. She was trying to keep him there, willing him not to look back into the mirror.

Shaking, Lawrence pulled out of her grasp and peered around her, terrified about what he will see in the reflection.

Expecting to see the terrifying beast, he was surprised to see his scared reflection in the filthy mirror.

As he looked, he was sure it was safe. It was all in his head.

Nothing prepared him for the beast to rear up from behind, growling maliciously its jaws dripping blood. It was coming down for the kill, to end Lawrence for good.

Everything went pitch black as Lawrence disappeared as the scene imploded.

Down...Down...such a long way down he fell.

Clank-Clank-Clank.

He was woken by the sounds of the gears and wondered why he was not there on the chair. Why had they not dragged him out of bed as they had done so often?

Even more surprising, was that Lawrence was not alone...

**It's pretty obvious now where I'm going with this. I hope you are enjoying it. Trust me, I haven't quite finished yet. Thanks to my reviews, and please review again if you can, it only takes one second!**

**If you can see any mistakes please let me know.**

**Thank you, I'll try and update quickly next time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Some of you guessed right about who the person is, you'll just have to see for yourself. This entire scene is quoted from the film but in Lawrence's point of view. It has the added bits in the extended addition. I hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I have no ownership of the Wolfman or its characters. I just own the computer to write it down on.**

"Lycanthropy, yeah Lycanthropy..." Lawrence heard a voice say. He was used to hearing screams of the Asylum inmates or the taunts of unfamiliar doctors. Yet he knew this voice, _but it couldn't be_...

"Aye, I contracted the disease, if that's what it is, in India in the Hindu Kush. The natives directed me to a cave, where according to legend lived a strange creature. A very strange creature. And after a great many days of climbing and searching, I finally found it. I found the cave and the strange creature that lived there."

Lawrence still refused to look at the speaker, knowing now who the voice belonged to. Part of him was glad, as after all he had wanted to confront him for the entire month he was there. The other half of him was in shock and was still coming to grips with him being there at all.

For the first time in weeks, Lawrence felt free of drugs. He was exhausted and every part of his body was aching; but, nevertheless, his mind was clear.

"Yeah," said Sir John, recalling what had happened. "It was a little boy. A little wild feral boy, powerfully strong."

Lawrence pictured the strange creature with little hair he had seen so often, baring its sharp teeth, growling sinisterly. He could imagine him crouching in a cave, a terrible animal, waiting for uninvited individuals to stray willingly into its lair...

"Who suddenly, attacked me and bit me." Sir John continued, pulling back his right sleeve revealing the bite mark on his skin, still pronounced.

"So, I returned to my hunting companions in the valley below thinking I'd been made the butt of a joke." He chuckled happily to himself. His expression soon turned into a sombre mask of disappear.

"I soon discovered otherwise..."

Lawrence remembered that night too well. It was imprinted in his mind since his childhood. He saw it again, getting out of bed, going down the path, through the gardens to where his mother lay. She was not holding a shaving knife; she was not holding anything...

_A hairy beast held her in his arms, its face covered in fur but not enough to mask the true identity of who hid beneath. His mother's beautiful body was broken, her neck savagely ripped at, blood pouring down into her lap._

"You killed my mother." Lawrence said slowly, speaking for the first time. He still had not looked once at his father.

There was a short pause.

"Yeah, I suppose I did." Sir John said, watching Lawrence cautiously.

Lawrence heaved his body into a sitting position. His body ached and he had little energy to move. Even if he had the energy, the thick chain around his neck would have prevented it.

"You should kill yourself." Lawrence said, still refusing to look at Sir John.

"Oh, I can't tell you how often I have considered that. But life is far too glorious, Lawrence, especially to the cursed and dammed like myself."

Sir John got up from the chair where he sat and moved across the room.

"Yeah, every night at the full moon, for many years now I've been locked in that crypt by Singh my faithful servant."

Lawrence turned towards him, he wanted to hurt him, to rip him to pieces, but he was too tired and drained. Besides, a part of him was still intrigued by what he was saying and wanted to find out more.

Sir John sighed deeply.

"Then she came, didn't she. Hot and burning like the face of the moon."

"Gwen" Lawrence said, he was now staring at his father, rapt with attention. He had thought of Gwen so often in the Asylum, she was his escape route. His remberance of reality.

"Yeah, she would have taken your brother away from me and they would have both vanished into the night forever." Sir John paced across the room. Lawrence's eyes followed him with every step he took. He was unsure where he was going with this but he was listening intently.

The aching was leaving him now, but a horrible itching was beginning in his legs. Lawrence tried to rub his feet together but it was no good.

"And although I was resigned to it the beast within me was not." Sir John continued. "And Ben, you understand me, had come to tell me that he was quite resolute in his decision to leave Talbot Hall for good and to take Gwen away from me."

"I became drunk and violent, extremely violent and I struck out at Singh who was trying to restrain me."

He laughed hollowly.

"And I knocked him out cold. Poor, poor Singh."

"Yeah, you know I never told you this Lawrence, but I used to be a bare knuckle prize fighter when I was a young man."

He moved towards Lawrence, who recoiled instantly looking wary.

"In the ports of Boston, San Francisco, New York. Back in the good old days before you were born. Long time ago. BAM!" He held up his fists in a fighting pose and laughed once more.

"Yeah, anyway." He persisted. "As a consequence, I was unable to lock myself in the crypt that night. And I found your brothers body in a ditch, not far from the house. He'd been torn to pieces."

Something twitched in Lawrence's senses. He was no longer tired, but fully alert. His father's words had lit a fire within him, simmering beneath his skin; burning his insides.

Sir John moved away from Lawrence, opposite the bed, not facing him. There was a slight pause.

"I know now it was a mistake to lock up the beast. Don't you think so Lawrence?"

Sir John slowly turned around to face Lawrence, smiling.

"I should have let it ran free." He raised one eyebrow. "Kill or be killed"

The simmering fire within Lawrence seemed to explode. He could stand it no more. He had forgotten he was weak, forgotten that he was chained up. All he wanted to do was to hurt his father as much as possible.

"I'll kill you!" He yelled getting to his feet and running with all his might at his father. He went too far, the chain around his neck reached its maximum and pulled him sharply back.

He thudded to the ground completely winded and out of breath. He groped his neck trying to pull off the chain that was strangling him off.

His father loomed above him.

"Ah, you've a long way to go yet, my young pup."

"I'll kill you." Lawrence breathed still hardly able to speak through the pain of his fall.

"Oh, you'll get your chance soon enough."

Sir John moved under the bared window where light was still filtering in.

"She'll be full tonight, moon." He pointed at the window.

Lawrence exhaled. He knew it was close. He had watched the moon pass with frightening pace across the sky. _Had it really come this soon_, he thought miserably.

Sir John reached inside his breast pocket of the jacket and pulled out a small object.

"I have a little gift for you Lawrence in the event you don't find life quite as glorious as I find it to be." Sir John smiled again and revealed the object to be a shaving knife, opening it slowly in front of Lawrence.

"Or not to be" He winked still smiling menacingly. He dropped the shaving knife onto Lawrence's chest, where he was still lying flat on his back.

"I am deeply sorry about this Lawrence; I do love you, dear boy."

He stepped over Lawrence towards the door.

"You may find that hard to believe in light of what has happened."

Sir John continued towards the door, not looking back.

"I'll kill you." Lawrence breathed, still finding it hard to speak.

"Sleep now." His father called.

"I'll kill you."

"Rest, Guards?" Lawrence heard the bolt grind across, opening the door.

"I'll kill you!" He said much more loudly.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" He screamed.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

The bolt shut and Lawrence was alone.

"I'll kill you." He kept muttering even though no one was there to answer apart from a harmonica, playing a tunefully melody as his father walked away from his only son.

**That chapter was much shorter then I planned, sorry. I thought this scene would be longer but it wasn't. I will try to make the next chapter longer for you. Please continue reviewing, it's a joy to read them all!**


	7. Chapter 7

**This is my final chapter, I'm pretty sad to end it, but proud as well. I hope you like the last part of my story. I'm very sorry I left it so long, I'm sure many would have forgotten this story... (like I did!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Wolfman or any characters in the story**.

There was so much in his mind that day. It had practically exploded by the amount of information he had been told.

Fury, fear and love

Fury at his father. He knew already, a part of him was sure that his father was pure evil. Now he knew for sure. How could he have killed his own brother? He loved them when they were children, would take them to the park for picnics and had been all that a father should have been.

Yet all memories of his father caring, even memories of his father being human were wiped from his mind. His father was no longer a man but the beast caged inside...

Lawrence was also scared. He knew what would happen tonight. He knew what would come over him, the powerful urge to kill, to rip and tear. How many more deaths would he be responsible for tonight?

He had stared a lot at the shaving knife his father had left him. Many times he thought he would end it once and for all. To kill the monster for good. Yet every time he held it above his wrists, a vision flashed before his mind.

_Gwen was laughing, carefree as she skipped stones across the lake, she turned to face him, flashing him her radiant smile. _

He always stopped. She needed to know the truth, she must. He couldn't bear for her to think badly of him. He loved her too much to leave without a goodbye.

With these feelings racing through him it was no wonder he was too preoccupied to scream.

Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

Icy water engulfed him. He didn't scream but concentrated on staying focused and holding his breath. It was hard, pressure beat a drum in his head. Concentrate, he told himself, don't slip up now.

Clank –Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

Lawrence gulped the air gratefully when he re-emerged. Swallowing great lung fulls. The doctors stood in front of him, talking quietly to themselves about their own mundane lives.

"Listen to me!" Lawrence cried, louder than he had intended. The doctors appeared startled and turned away from their note comparison to regard him curiously. Lawrence felt clearer than ever after his conversation with his father and was brimming with fresh determination.

"Lock me in my room tonight. Lock the door and leave me there. You have to believe me now."

"Oh yes?" One of the guards said, coming close to his face.

Lawrence was still strapped in and couldn't move an inch.

He felt the guard's foul breath by his ear.

"Scared of the moon are we?"

"Stop it, you have to believe me, I am not a monster. Buts there's something inside of me that is..."

The gears ground back into action.

Clank –Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

"I AM NOT A MONSTER!" He screamed.

Water hit his back and rose to his face, cutting his scream short.

The ice bit him like knives, scratching at his skin, attacking his pores.

Clank –Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

He spluttered and spat water out of his mouth as the chair rose back up to a sitting position.

"If you're not a monster then why did so many villagers of Blackmoor die?" Asked Dr Hoenneger flicking through his charts, sounding almost bored as he leaned against the back wall.

Lawrence had no reply.

"I see." The Doctor said in answer to his silence.

He looked up from the chart and nodded to the guard by the gears.

"Once more, and not for too long, we don't have the luxury of much time. The patient must look presentable for tonight."

"What?" Lawrence said, his heart thumping hard in his chest.

"We are going to stop these delusions once and for all, Mr Talbot. You shall then be free, to live your life normally, I'm sure you will thank me after."

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

Clank –Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

The gears began to move, and the chair began to lower.

"Tell me!"

Water hit him again, yet in his panic he had swallowed much of the ice water and began to choke, water filling his lungs, his heart pounding in his chest.

Clank –Clank-Clank-Clank-Clank

The chair rose once more and he gasped and spluttered, coughing up the water he had inhaled. In his confusion and disorientation he hardly noticed the doctor turning to leave.

"8.00pm tonight, Mr Talbot." And with that Dr Hoenneger was gone.

Lawrence hardly remembered the rest of the day.

He was praying for the Doctor to be lying, for this to be one of his nightmares. Lawrence searched in vain for some way out of the Asylum.

He screamed, begged, shouted and prayed to any God above who may spare the lives of others or give him the strength he didn't possess to kill himself.

No such prayers were answered. At half 7, when gruel would normally be brought, guards marched in.

He didn't fight at first. He pleaded with them to listen as they unfastened him, begged that he would only hurt them. Begged them to leave him here chained up rather than be out there and allow others to be exposed to his condition yet they only laughed harder.

Finally, Lawrence snapped. Perhaps the dormant beast inside him had already begun to awake...

"Let go off me!" Lawrence yelled, wrenching his arm free and swinging it to one of the guards, knocking one of them to the floor. He pulled his other arm free and sprinted to the door, yet his cold and weak hands only fumbled uselessly against the lock. His nails scrambling against the wood.

Before he knew it he was pulled down to the ground, his body firmly planted as more guards approached. They secured his hands and fixed him to a trolley. He was tightly bound now, unable to move an inch.

He saw the bloody face of one of the guards loom over him, the one he had hit. It looked as though he had broken his nose and knocked a front tooth out given the gaping hole in the Guards sadistic smile.

"Think of this as repayment for what you did to me" He snarled and pounded Lawrence's' head with his fist.

Lawrence welcomed the darkness the onslaught of fists brought...

Yellow

Black

Yellow

Black

...Lawrence was dimly aware that he was travelling...

Yellow

Black

Yellow

...The yellow must be lights, he thought, gas lanterns. Why was he travelling and where was he going...

Yellow

Black

Yellow

Black

Then it hit him, the rolling of the trolley's squeaky wheels and the changing light as they passed one lit lantern to the next in the dark passage. His mind was still struggling to comprehend.

He was replaying in his head all he had done, all he had seen.

"Terrible things Lawrence, you've done terrible things..."

"I get your implication and resent it..."

"You killed my mother..."

"Yes, I suppose I did..."

"You should kill yourself..."

"The power of Satan to change men into beasts..."

Then, Lawrence felt the passage widen and heard the wheels of the trolley slow to a stop, he could see very little from his secured position but was aware of him being watched, observed as if an interesting experiment by bespectacled, bearded men in stands raised above him position.

He heard distantly a voice as if it was far away growing louder with every word.

"We are here tonight to illustrate conclusively that Mr. Talbot's fears are quite irrational. So, we will remain in this room together, and once Mr. Talbot has witnessed that the full moon holds no sway over him, that he remains a perfectly ordinary human being, he will have taken his first small step down the long road to mental recovery. We are all aware that Mr. Talbot has suffered quite traumatic personal experiences. He witnessed his mother's self mutilations. His young mind, unable to accept it, created a fantastical truth, that his father is to blame. That is father is literally a monster."

_I'm a monster too_, thought Lawrence, although his own internal voice seemed to be fading and was being replaced by another, deeper, grotesque voice inside his head...

"But, your father is not a werewolf." Contined Dr Hoenneger. "You were not bitten by a werewolf. You will not become a werewolf, any more than I will sprout wings and fly out of that window."

The men around the room chuckled in apprication of the Doctors joke. The beast within Lawrence smiled, baring its jaws...

_...You will all die tonight..._ the beast thought, its voice growing stronger inside Lawrence's mind, over taking his own sanity, replacing it with the monstrous beast...

... and it was the beast who won that night as he escaped... won, rampaged and slaughtered...

_Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms, and the autumn moon is bright._

**Fin**

**Thanks very much for reading, I hope you like it!**


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